The Lost Territories 1: The Escape Dome
by VeegoLaBerge
Summary: After discovering the ancient journals of his late uncle, Bobby comes to a sudden realization, with the discovery of a horrifying secret; the past is repeating itself, and the territories once thought to be doomed are returning to life.


**The battle for Halla is over, and Bobby Pendragon and the Travelers have emerged victorious. Saint Dane, now finally reduced to nothing, can no longer plague the universe with his vile trickery. The future seems bright for the Travelers. However, as Bobby Pendragon returns to an ordinary life in the suburbs of New York, another, more terrifying enemy approaches, one with the power to manipulate dimensions and forge a new future in ways that no Traveler has even been able to.**

After discovering the ancient journals of his late uncle, Bobby comes to a sudden realization, with the discovery of a horrifying secret; the past is repeating itself, and the territories once thought to be doomed are returning to life. They are being given another chance--another turning point at which time they may be brought back from their untimely deaths, or will fall, bringing the rest of Halla down with them.

Rialla, Vellanio, Mylos, Novis Okaan. The Lost Territories. The ones that were never meant to be discovered by the present generation.

**SECOND EARTH**

He knew it would not be easy. But even so, as Bobby Pendragon crossed the threshold to his uncle's house for the final time, he felt something within him seem to die, as though his very core had erupted with all of the fear, all of the anxiety of coming to this place, in one single moment. He wished Courtney were there, wished she could comfort him, but knew that she could not. She would never again be able to help him. Press had made that for certain.

Part of him was angry at his uncle for doing what he had done, but he knew that it had been necessary. Only the Travelers could be allowed to know about Halla, and the territories, and the flumes that connected them all. While the acolytes had been helpful, the battle was now over, and it was time to put their minds at ease. Mark Dimond and Courtney Chetwynde would never again remember their times with Bobby Pendragon.

He still remembered Press's words: "I can't tell you how much I don't want to do this, Bobby..." He had paused, as if weighing the consequences of his words. "They have to forget, it's..." He paused again, sighing deeply, "the way it was meant to be."

"I don't give a damn about the way it was meant to be!" Bobby had retorted. "They're my friends! They're as much a part of this as I am!"

"That they may be." Press again. "But they are better off not knowing. Believe me. Let them get on with their lives."

Then he had sent him away from that nameless place, the proverbial graveyard where the Travelers found a final peace, back into a world where he had no one...

"Mr. Pendragon, how old would you say this house was when your uncle passed away?"

The voice jerked him back to his senses, and he struggled to find the speaker. He realized it was Harriet Jenkins, the realtor assigned to the sale of his uncle's house.

"Uh..." he truly didn't know the answer, and as much as he knew she was merely trying to make polite conversation, her words stung. "Forty-two years." He quickly invented a number, trying desperately to sound sure of himself.

Harriet smiled kindly, her lips stretching to accentuate the large amount of wrinkles on her aged face. "I do offer all of my condolences on the issue, but as this is my job I need to get back to business. Thank you for coming so quickly. I have made an assessment of the approximate value of the house, so if you'll look here..."

Bobby skimmed through the pages that she handed him without truly looking at them. His mind was still in Halla, with Press's decision to wipe the minds of Courtney and Mark, and the rest of the acolytes who had helped the Travelers. And also his decision to close the flumes.

"We don't need anyone Traveling any more. I'm going to close off all of the territories from each other. That way, there will be no chance of the Convergence happening again," he had said. Those words had hurt even more. Bobby would never again visit the tropical waters of Cloral, the mountain ranges of Denduron, the beautiful future of his own planet, Third Earth...

"I want to go back..."

"Back where, Mr. Pendragon?" said Harriet Jenkins, and Bobby felt immediately embarrassed, having spoken out loud.

He smiled. "I was just thinking of the times when Press was alive. I really miss him," lied Bobby quickly.

Harriet smiled, and put a hand on Bobby's shoulder. She looked on the verge of tears at his statement. "That's so touching... you miss him, I'm sure. I..." she choked back a sob. "I'll b-be in the kitchen... Sorry... so sentimental... Look through the house, see if you want to keep anything..."

Bobby shook his head. In all truth, it had been so long since Press had died that he really didn't remember the man. Forcing back a cruel laugh at the thought of how Harriet would react to having to sell a funeral parlour, he went up the stairs into his uncle's house, grateful for the time alone.

Press Tilton's large old house was built like a downsized Victorian manor. Its two stories were separated by a grand staircase that was caked with grime and dust, having not been used in several years. The upper floor was mainly comprised of a long, narrow hallway. At the end of this hallway was Press's bedroom.

Bobby had never been inside the room, and he had always wondered whether it contained special secrets about Halla or not. Most likely the latter. It was not very probable that he would keep any dangerous information in his bedroom, where the casual burglar could find them all. However, he could not help but wonder...

He swung open the door, sending dust particles flying out of the room. Looking inside, he saw a perfectly ordinary room for a middle-aged man. A neatly made bed stood in the corner by the window that looked like it hadn't been slept in for decades (and it probably hadn't been, Bobby reminded himself). A desk was across from the bed, highly polished with a single slip of paper resting on its surface. It seemed like the only thing in the room that had not been touched by the dust. A dead potted plant sat in the corner, a further symbol of the room's unfortunate vacancy.

The paper on the desk was the thing that caught Bobby's eye the most; the rest of the room was immaculately neat, and yet this single shred of disarray still remained, even after the house was cleaned by a local maid service. He picked it up carefully, examining the words:

_Everything has a darker side, however hidden it may be._

_-Krismin Bajutra_

_And they cry, and they cry, sweetly singing their songs of despair right to the bitter end. _

_-Jade Windsweep_

_Like rivers they flow, holding the secrets to the things we hold dear._

_-Saru Soliy_

_Power is finite. Love is forever._

_-Khiru Mina_

_A hindrance... a hindrance is all. I will not be vanquished._

_-Saint Dane_

It appeared to be a list of quotations... But by who? The only name he recognized was Saint Dane, and anything that man had ever said did not matter to him. It was a message, he knew, from Uncle Press. But what was the point? What did it mean?

He was about to leave the room and return to the kitchen. He planned to tell Harriet Jenkins that the deal was off, pay her some kind of commission for helping, even though nothing was sold, and leave.

However, the second he rested the paper back on the desk, his ring began to twitch. The ring that he had used so many times to send journals to his friends, that he had been sure would never do anything but rest unneeded on his finger for the rest of eternity, was activating.

It was impossible - Press had said that he had sealed every last gateway to the territories, and yet here it was, a message from someone, somewhere. It could be Loor, or Spader, or even Mark and Courtney! Maybe this meant that they would remember him, after all!

The lightshow ended, and a large, leatherbound book lay on the floor before him, its binding perfectly in line, and its cover unfaded. The title said simply: _"The Journals of Press Tilton"_. A page near the beginning was clearly marked with a piece of black string. Intrigued, Bobby flipped the book open to the page, and began to read.


End file.
